Playing Sherlock
by ForeverAlwaysTogether
Summary: After faking his death, Sherlock moves in with Molly while he works on clearing his name. But like always, he becomes bored and comes up with the idea of Molly "playing Sherlock" so he can contiune his work as the world's only Consulting Detective.
1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper stared down at her hands, her body visibly shaking. The blood had stained her hands slightly red and she bit down hard on her lower lip at the sight. Her hands unconsciously clenched into fists and she slid down onto the floor, pressing them to her forehead. Hot tears leaked out of her eyes and a quiet sob escaped her lips. It was over. Sherlock was dead.

Although she knew the truth, that Sherlock was indeed alive, the thought of helping him fake his own death shook her to the core. She couldn't imagine what John must have been going through at that moment. To think that his best friend now lay dead… Another sob left her lips, echoing in the empty lab.

"Molly, why are you crying?"

His voice was a whisper, hardly audible over the sound of her sobbing. And of course he had to be quiet- no one could know Sherlock was hiding in her lab.

Molly quickly whipped away her tears and said with a trembling lower lip, "I am not crying."

He snorted, but said nothing in reply. It was unlike him, but Molly didn't care. She was happy he was not acting like his usual self- she didn't think she would be able to deal with it. Not today.

She stood, and on shaking legs, walked to the sink across the room. She turned on the water and ran her hands under it, scrubbing furiously at the blood stains. Cupping water into her hands, she washed the blood and tears from her face.

The door to the lab opened and John Watson stood in the doorway, clutching the frame for support. His eyes meet hers and she could feel the pressure of more tears threatening spill down her cheeks.

"Tell me it's not true," he whispered. "Tell me he is still alive."

His voice was hollow and broken. He sounded nothing like the army doctor that Molly knew.

She opened her mouth to answer him- to tell him that it was all a lie, that Sherlock was alive. But, she slowly closed it and shook her head. Tears shined in both of their eyes. John's eyes had a defeated and lost look in them.

He fell to the ground, burying his face in his hands and crying. Molly took a step toward him, biting her lip, unsure if he would welcome her comfort. As his shoulders began to shake, Molly went to him, wrapping her arms around the man. His own arms pulled her closer to him and he began to cry softly into her neck.

Molly's eyes flickered to the closest in which Sherlock was hiding. It stood part way open, and Sherlock's outline was perfectly visible to her. He was staring at them curiously, his mouth slightly open as if to ask a question.

With a single shake of her head, he retreated back into the closet and shut the door.

"Molly!"

She was awoken by his deep voice outside of her room. Sighing sleepily, she looked at the clock and cursed Sherlock's sleep schedule. It was two in morning. She pulled herself from the bed and wrapped her robe around her small body.

Just as she was about to open her door, Sherlock did it for her. His face was frustrated and slightly annoyed.

"What took you so long?"

"I was sleeping, Sherlock."

"Why?"

Molly shook her head and walked past him into her kitchen. He had been living with her for four months and sixteen days. And in that time period, her normal neat and organized house resembled a battle field. Books were tossed casually in the direction of the bookshelves and newspaper clippings covered her coffee table. A violin had also found its way into her apartment, resting on the cushion of a chair Sherlock deemed his.

Although he could be quite a pain, and his organization skills were nonexistent, Molly loved having there. True it was very dangerous for Sherlock to stay London, but his options were limited. He could move in with her, or Mycroft. Not surprisingly, he didn't choose his brother.

Sherlock followed her and watched with observant eyes as she started making coffee.

"I know, black with two sugars," she said as he opened his mouth to speak.

She poured the coffee into two cups and handed him his. She took a large gulp of hers, grimacing at the taste. She really didn't like coffee, but started drinking it to keep up with Sherlock's unlimited energy.

He sipped his slowly, still staring at her.

"Why did you wake me up?" she finally asked, running her fingers through her hair.

He shrugged. "I'm bored, and you took away my gun."

Molly's eyes narrowed slightly. "I will not have you shooting holes into my walls, Sherlock! Paying for my rent is hard enough without extra fees for damage."

"Then what do you suggest I do? I am stuck in here for all hours of the day- I haven't been outside in weeks Molly! Do you have any idea what it is like having a mind like mine and not being able to use it? No. Of course you don't."

Molly sighed and rubbed her temples. "You know why you can't go outside, Sherlock. The whole country- and most of the internet population- think you are dead. You haven't got enough proof to clear your name yet."

"And I may never get any if I'm stuck in here," he muttered under his breath.

"If you had chosen to stay with Mycroft, you wouldn't have had this problem. He can only come here every so often, Sherlock."

"He is the bloody government and he can't find the time to help his own brother?" Sherlock's voice was angry and Molly just sighed.

"Get dressed. We are going out."

At that, Sherlock perked right up. "Out? We?"

"Yes, you too. Mycroft is going to kill me, but I can't stand seeing you looking so- sa"Molly choked on her words.

"So what?"

"Bored. I was going to say bored."

Sherlock raised one perfect brow and open his mouth to protest, but Molly didn't give him the chance. She all but ran back to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her heartbeat was quick in her chest.

She took a deep breath, and went to her closet, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She pulled her hair into a side ponytail, remembering Sherlock said the side part looked better on her. Shaking her head, she took it out and just pulled it back into a normal ponytail. The consulting detective would never have feelings for her- why bother attempting?

Sherlock was outside her door when she opened it, making her jump in surprise. He was wearing his usual long coat and scarf.

"You can't wear that," she said.

"Why not?" His voice was challenging and his eyes had narrowed slightly at her comment.

"Someone will recognize you."

"Molly, it is 2:30 am. There is hardly chance that someone other the two of us will be out at this hour of the morning. No one will know it is me."

"Change or we don't go."

It was the one rule Sherlock had. He couldn't leave without Molly's permission. He could go anywhere in her apartment do anything he wanted to everything in the apartment, ask Molly to bring him anything he wanted or needed, but he couldn't leave.

Scowling, Sherlock stormed away from her and into the guest bedroom that was know his. When he came back out, he was wearing a zip-up hoodie she had given him for Christmas two years before. The tag was still on the sleeve.

Seeing him in something other than his long coat almost made her smile. Instead, she stepped closer to him and yanked on the tag to remove it from the hoodie. She quickly side-stepped around him and reentered the kitchen, throwing away the tag.

"I assume this is all right to wear then?"

"Yes, it's fine."

Sherlock followed her to the door, and she rested her hand on the knob. "Sherlock…"

"What, Molly?" He was impatient now.

"You must listen to me. We cannot stay out for long- I have to be at Bart's at six, and it probably isn't safe for us to be out past four."

"I'll take what I can get."

Molly turned around and looked up into his brilliant blue eyes. "Do you promise you will listen to me? That you will come back here before four?"

He rolled his eyes. "Molly, this isn't necessary-"

"Sherlock."

"Yes, fine. Can we go now please?"

Molly walked past him and went to her window and opening it instead. "It is probably best if we avoid the main entrance- someone will be at the desk. I don't have visitors so someone will talk if they see me will one."

She stepped out onto the fire escape and began the climb down. Sherlock shut the window behind them, but not locking it. He past her on the stairs, quickly climbing down the three flights to the ground. Molly smiled at the sight of him. He looked like a small child running around a playground.

Once they reached the ground, Sherlock inhaled deeply and smiled. "Come on, let's go somewhere."

"We have to walk-"

"Molly, a taxi driver will not know who I am. Especially not while I am wearing this thing."

"If you would have left me finish, you would know that taxies don't come this way for another hour or two."

"Oh."

The two walked out of the alley. Molly was aware of how close Sherlock was standing to her. When their arms accidentally brushed against each other's, Sherlock side stepped away from her. She felt her heart fall a bit, but did not let her facial expression change.

The streets were dark and only a few street lamps were lit. Molly could sense how badly Sherlock wanted to run ahead and just enjoy seeing something other than her apartment walls.

"Molly?" He stopped her, grabbing the fabric of her sweatshirt in his long fingers. "Could we go to Baker Street?"

She opened her mouth, but he pressed his finger to her lips. He took a step toward her, leaning in close to her ear.

"Please? I won't do anything; I just want to see 221B. I promise."

Molly knew what he was doing. He was making her knees go weak. Sherlock knew very well she had feelings for him, and he was using them against her. She knew she should say no. Although it was unlikely, John could be awake and see them. But Molly couldn't say no to Sherlock Holmes.

"All right." Her voice was breathless and her heart was beating erratically.

Sherlock smiled triumphantly.

They started toward Baker Street. It was probably a twenty minute walk from her apartment and they spent it in complete an utter silence. Molly was unsure how many times she opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it. Her hands were shaking slightly at her sides and she stuffed them into her pockets to hide them from view. Although she knows it is useless- he probably noticed before she did.

Before long, they are on Baker Street looking up at 221B. The lights are off, which really wasn't that big of a surprise.

"How is he?"

Sherlock's voice cuts through the night and for a moment, Molly isn't sure if he has spoken or not.

"As well as can be expected I suppose," she replied. "He misses you. They all do."

"Oh really? Even Sally and Anderson?" His voice comes out as a hiss, and Molly cringes away from him, even though they are not standing close to one another.

"Anderson doesn't talk about you- he pretends like you never existed. Sally… she talks about you all the time, actually. Says she was right, but no one would listen to her. Greg has threatened to fire her if she continues talking about you negatively. She still does, just not when he's in the room."

"See? They all don't miss me."

"Well, the people who matter do."

"What about you?"

"Me? Sherlock, I see you every day."

"Would you miss me if you didn't know?"

"Of course I would."

"Why?"

Molly looked at him from the corner of her eye, and then looked back at 221B. "I don't know- I just would."

Sherlock did not seem satisfied with her answer, but he did not press her further much to her gratefulness.

"It's three in the morning," she said looking down at her phone. "Is there any other place you want to go?"

"Can I go to Bart's with you today?"

"Sherlock-"

He was leaning in closer to her again. Molly silently cursed him- it wasn't fair he could do this to her. Although, it was partly her fault because she let him.

"You can lock the lab door so no one can come in. And if they really need to talk to you, I'll hide in the closet again. Please, Molly, let me do something _useful_. I could help you with post mortems or identify a murder weapon…"

He let his voice trail off as he took another step toward her. Molly's mouth was partly open and she turned away from him, defeated.

"Mycroft would kill me…" It was a feeble attempt at saying no.

"Please Molly?"

She couldn't remember a time when Sherlock said 'please' to her so many times. He usually did whatever he wanted, but now he needed permission- her permission. All she had to do was say 'no' and they would go back to the apartment.

"All right Sherlock. Just this once. Then we go back to the apartment. Deal?"

He smirked. "Deal."

"Did you get all that?" Sherlock asked looking up from the dead man on the table. He had given her a detailed report on how the man died and a pretty good idea of who killed him. "I cannot wait to see Lestrade's face when you tell him all of this."

It was Sherlock's idea. He knew Lestrade would be coming to ask Molly for her finding on the body, and Sherlock was making sure she was prepared. He wanted to Molly into another version of himself, and he figured this was a brilliant way to do it.

"I think so, but are you sure this is a good idea? What if Greg starts asking me to go to crime scenes or something? I can't very well take you with me there."

Sherlock shrugged. "We'll figure something out. Don't worry Molly, this'll be fun."

"Fun…sure." Molly looked down at the notes she had scribbled down onto a piece of paper. Sherlock wanted her to memorize all of it, which wouldn't be too much of a problem. The problem would be if Greg took her seriously or not.

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock smiled.

"Show time," he whispered. He hurried to the closet and shut the door behind him as there was another knock on the door.

"Coming!" she called, hurrying over to the door. She stole a glance at the closet, the man on the table and back down at her notes. Taking a deep breath, she stuffed the paper into her lab coat pocket and opened the door. "John?"

"Hi Molly." John Watson stood in the doorway with a small half-smile on his face. "How are you?"

"I'm… I'm all right. Yourself?"

"Hanging in there." He entered the lab and looked around. "I keep expecting to see him in here one of these days."

"Me too," Molly replied. Her eyes nervously flickered to the closet and she bit her lip. "Are you here with Greg?"

"Lestrade? No, I didn't know he was coming. Case?"

"Yeah, he wanted me to look at the victim. I told him to come over when he got a chance- I think I know what happened to him."

John nodded his head absentmindedly. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Oh, no, go right ahead."

He stepped closer to the head, letting his eyes look up and down. He had a puzzled expression on his face- the same one Molly had had when Greg first dropped off the body.

"I suggest murder. Am I right?"

Molly shrugged. "I think so, you never know." Again she looked toward the closet, then at the lab door. She didn't want to pretend to be as smart or clever as Sherlock in front of John. He was starting to get a little better. Not much, but a little.

"Listen, Molly-"

John didn't finish his sentence, because Lestrade burst into the room with Donavan and Anderson behind him. Molly suddenly felt very uncomfortable. She could do this in front of Greg alone, but in front of John, Sally, and Anderson?

"Morning, Molly," Greg said with a smile. "Thank you for doing this- it really is helpful-"

"Oh for god's sake." Anderson muttered under his breath. "I already looked at the body, Lestrade, I'm telling you there is nothing she can tell you that I didn't-"

"He was killed by blunt force trauma to the head. A golf club- judging by the size of the wound on his head, I would say an iron, probably the 7th, although it could be the 8th."

"What?" Anderson asked. Molly reframed from smirking- Sherlock said his findings would be different.

"It was oblivious a golf club- he was an avid golfer. The tan line on his arms and legs suggest he spends a lot of time outside wearing T-shirts and shorts. Although he could be sunbathing, or merely walking around, the lack of tan on his left hand and face suggest otherwise. He could be spending his time playing baseball, but he if was, he would not have the tan on his legs because they would be completely covered. His face is not tan because of the hat he wears.

"As for the person who hit him, they would be tall. Probably around this man's height, who is six feet. I know they are tall because they used one of the longest two clubs to beat him, rather than one of the shorter ones. The force of the blow suggests that the murderer is male, and judging by the height.

"The clothes you sent over with him are expensive, so this man makes a lot of money. I noticed a missing person's aid in the paper yesterday morning for a rich businessman- this is the man. He could have been on the course with other businessmen discussing a merger or other business type topics. Or, he could have been alone with his caddie. If I am right, when you go to research the golf course, you will discover he was alone with his caddie three days go. That was that last anyone heard of him.

"His caddie was probably angered by a new idea he had- the newspaper suggested he was considering taking over a smaller family-owned company. The caddie is most likely of relation to the people who own this business and didn't want him to buy them out. They had an argument, which turned violent. The caddie dragged his body back to the golf chart and dropped him off into the river not far from the course where his body followed the current to where he was found."

Everyone in the room was staring at her in complete and utter shock. She shifted uncomfortably under their stares.

"How…. did-"John started.

"I'm observant," she whispered in reply, looking down at the ground.

"What golf course then?" Sally snapped. "Go on. Tell us."

"The Royal Blackheath. There was a receipt from three days ago in his right shoe. His shorts didn't have pockets, so he put it in his shoe. This protected it from most of the water damage."

"That… was incredible," Greg breathed. He turned to Anderson. "Did you get all of that Anderson?"

"Oh, here," Molly said, pulling the paper from her pocket. "I wrote it all down."

"Wow, you really thank this out, didn't you?" Greg said with a small laugh. "Thank you Molly, really thank you. Anderson would have pointed us in the completely wrong direction."

Anderson narrowed his eyes at Greg and then glared at Molly before storming out of the lab closely followed by Sally.

"Listen Molly," Greg said. "What you just did… well you sounded a lot like Sherlock. I know you aren't him, but would you be willing to maybe help us on a few cases? Just if we need to be pointed in the right direction?"

"Of course. Any time."

Greg smiled at her and exited the lab, his head down looking at her notes. Molly turned to look at John and gave him a sheepish smile.

"You… but-"

"I'm observant… being around Sherlock for as long as I have… had, sorry, I suppose he… just.. I don't know… unknowing taught me?"

John's mouth was still half way open in shock and he nodded. "That was… brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

A soft blush tinted Molly's cheeks and she looked down at the ground. "Thank you, John." Silence entered the room and again Molly shifted uncomfortably. "John… I have to go home now- my shift is done for the day."

"I'll walk you out."

Panic shot through Molly. No, he couldn't walk her out. She would have to leave Sherlock alone in the closet until she ditched John.

"That is quite all right, but thank you for the offer. I have to clean up in here before I leave anyway- it will probably take a while."

"Well I could help-"

"Really, it's fine. I'll see you later, John."

He nodded and walked out, looking back at her before closing the door. Molly breathed a sigh of relief and locked it after him, leaning against the metal for a moment. She jumped when she heard someone banging to be let in.

"Molly Hooper, you open this damn door this instance!"

Biting her lip, Molly unlocked the door and looked up at Mycroft.

"Hello, Mycroft-"

He pushed passed her and into the room, heading straight for the closet in which Sherlock was hiding. Molly quickly locked the lab door again and turned around in time to see Mycroft pulling his little brother out of the closet.

"I told you to stay in her apartment! What the hell were you thinking to let him out?" he hissed at her.

"Don't yell at her Mycroft," Sherlock said, scowling at his brother. "It was my idea, I talked her into it."

"Don't! Do you have any idea what could have happened? Someone could have seen you!"

"But they didn't."

The Holmes boys stood in a heated silence, glaring at each other with their matching eyes. Suddenly, Sherlock smiled and folded his arms across his chest.

"Mycroft, I propose a deal."

"No, Sherlock, no deals! You stay Ms. Hooper's apartment and you don't come out until your name is cleared!"

"You can't make me stay there, and neither can Molly. But, if you give me what I am asking for, I will stay in Molly's apartment until it is safe for me to leave."

This interested Mycroft. His facial expression softened. "What exactly do you want, Sherlock?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Sherlock… I feel ridiculous."

"Oh please Molly, you look fine. Tilt up please."

Sighing, Molly readjusted her new glasses. A small webcam had been placed between the lenses and was streaming live to Sherlock's laptop. It was what Sherlock had asked Mycroft for. He wanted a way to continue working, and this was just what he needed. Molly would go to the crime scenes for Sherlock and he would tell her what to say.

Headphones were plugged into her phone will she was on a call with Sherlock. He would speak to her into the phone and she would hear him giving her commands as where to look and what to say. At least that was how it was suppose to work in theory.

"I still can't see the clock," he said. "Try tilting your head up."

The two were working on perfecting working with each other, which was proving to be a difficult task. Sherlock was too demanding and wanted her to move quickly. Molly was having difficulty repeating everything he was saying because he was saying it so fast.

"Better?"

"Much, thank you."

Molly waited patiently for Sherlock to stay something, when he didn't; she turned around to look at him.

"Well?"

His eyes looked up from the computer screen and focused on her. "Well what?"

"Is this going to work?" She gestured between the laptop and the glasses. "Don't we need Wi-Fi?"

"Probably." He looked back down at the computer and Molly pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Don't do that," he said sternly. "It blocks the view of the camera."

"Sherlock, will we have Wi-Fi? What if we are in the middle of a field? Or by a river? How are you suppose to tell me what to say then?"

"Mycroft will work out the details, Molly, don't worry about it."

Mycroft rather liked Sherlock's deal and had done everything needed to supply them with the proper items. He wanted his brother to be safe and that meant he had to stay in Molly's flat all day, every day. Unfortunately, Sherlock had found a loophole in his deal with Mycroft.

Sherlock had promised he wouldn't leave the flat until it was safe for him to do so. And he believed that it was safe between the hours of one and four in the morning. Molly had caught him the first time he tried leaving without her. Sherlock agreed not to leave the flat without her.

So every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, the pair slipped out of her flat and down the fire escape. They usually just wondered around London, sometimes stopping in front of 221B. Sherlock's favorite spot was a park not too far from Molly's flat.

"Can we go out tonight?"

"It's Tuesday, Sherlock. You know the deal."

"I know. How about a trade? Wednesday for Tuesday?"

"Why can't you wait?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Sherlock…" Molly warned.

"Fine. We will go out on Wednesday." He looked away from her and at the computer again. Molly crossed her arms.

"And you will stay here until then."

Sherlock glared up at her. "Fine," he muttered.

Molly was getting a little better at telling him no. He still could easily persuade her to do anything, but when he wasn't so close to her, she found it was easy to deny him what he wanted.

She took the glasses off and placed them on the desk, rubbing her eyes. It had been a week since Greg had asked her to visit crime scenes if they needed her help, and he hadn't texted her asking for any. To be honest, Molly was quite happy he hadn't. She was terribly afraid something would go wrong and she wouldn't have Sherlock's voice whispering what to say in her ear.

There was a knock at her door, startling both the detective and Molly. Their eyes meet and again the person knocked. Quietly, Sherlock closed the laptop and brushed past her to the door. He looked through the peephole and frowned. Again a knock. He crept back to her and leaned in closely to her ear.

"It's Lestrade- he has a case."

Handing her the glasses, Sherlock grabbed the laptop and retreated back into his room as Molly made her way to the door, swinging it open. Greg stood outside, his fist raised mid-knock. His expression flashed with surprise, but it quickly changed to a friendly smile.

"Oh, sorry Greg," she said. "I was listening to music and couldn't hear you."

"It's fine Molly. Uh… the other day at the morgue, you said it would all right to ask you for help on some of the crime scenes, yeah?"

"Of course."

"Well, we must found a woman's body out in St. James's Park. Will you come?"

"Sure, just let me grab my coat."

Leaving the door open, Molly hurried back inside and grabbed her white coat. She saw Sherlock hiding in the hallway and nodded to him, accepting his incoming call on her mobile phone and plugging in her headphones. She returned to the door and locked it behind her

"You don't mind if I listen to music do you? Helps me think."

"I suppose that's all right- just tell me what I need to know."

They walked down the stairs and out the front door of the building. Greg opened the police car door for her and she slipped inside.

"A police car, Molly?" Sherlock's voice echoed in her ears and she ignored him, turning to Greg.

"What can you tell me about the body?"

"Well, Anderson says it was murder, but you know very well he could be wrong. It looks like whoever did it carved all sorts of things into her skin. We haven't found the knife yet."

"And the final cause of death was…?"

"Shot to the head, point-blank-range."

Molly nodded and looked away from him. She could hear Sherlock muttering into himself, considering all that Lestrade had said. She picked at her nails nervously as they arrived at the crime scene. Taking a deep breath and once more readjusting the glasses, Molly stepped out of the car.

Greg led her past the work crews and straight to the body. He handed her gloves as the body came into view. The corpse hadn't been cleaned yet and blood had soaked into the earth. She didn't gag or make any sort of sound- she was used to this.

"Look down at the ground by her left foot," Sherlock instructed. After lifting her foot and panning the camera over everything in that area, Sherlock grunted. "Her right arm, turn it over."

Molly kneeled beside the woman and gently lifted the woman's arm. Carved into her snow white skin were the letters 'I. O. U.'. The cuts were deep, but the blood around them was minimal. Even Molly knew that meant they were done after she died.

"Check her other arm."

This one did not have letters carved into it, but a series of numbers. 1000010001. The numbers traveled across her arm and up to her shoulder. Again it appeared the carvings were done after she died.

"Check the head wound."

Sherlock made her inspect every inch of the woman's body as well as the grass and the position of trees around them. He made her measure the droplets of blood on the grass in size and how far they were from the body.

"Anything?" Greg finally asked as Molly stood.

Her back hurt from bending over so much.

"I believe so yes. The woman is in her fifties, a school teacher judging by her clothing, the red ink on her fingers, and the lanyard around her neck. She's recently divorced but still had feelings for her husband- she wears her wedding band, but on her right hand instead of her left.

"The gun used to kill her was a small caliber handgun- a .22 or .25 if I am correct. The murderer shot her at point-blank range- she was trying to run. Her left foot is sprained- she probably tripped and fell, giving the killer just enough time to hold her still and shoot her.

"She was dumped here, probably an hour ago. I know this isn't where she was killed, because there would be more blood. Although the carvings were done post-mortem, they were done just after she died- she would still have bled quite a lot. The droplets of blood around the body suggest she was carried- not dragged- to this location. They are perfect circles, suggesting they fell off the body and on to the ground, rather than smudges that would point to the body being dragged.

"The murder is short, most likely overweight, and unskilled with a gun. Any good gunmen would have been able to shoot her even if she was running, but this man had to wait until he was close enough to her that he could see the life leave her body- he had to be certain the job was done.

"The carvings are sloppy- whoever took a knife to this woman's skin had ever done such a thing before. Most likely her killer wrote these messages, although I don't know what they mean. He carried her body here rather than drag it. Either this was his first kill, or he knew the woman personally. More likely than not this was his first kill and he didn't know the woman."

Just like before, Molly was met with dropped mouths and blank stares. She looked down at the ground sheepishly, playing with her hands.

"No, no, no!" Sherlock said. "Look up! Their faces are hilarious! They look like they have seen a ghost!"

"Impossible," Donavan said. "Someone must be telling you something. I bet you aren't even listening to music!"

Molly's face filled with color and she pulled out her phone. Upon taking out the headphones, soft violin music was playing. Donavan's face turned red with anger and she stormed away muttering, "Freak reincarnated" under her breath.

"Molly, you are fantastic," Greg said. He was staring at her like she was someone else. Like she was a mix between the shy girl he knew, and the consulting detective he thought was dead. "But are you sure there is nothing you can tell me about the carvings?"

Sherlock, who was still playing the violin abruptly stopped and hissed into the phone, "No. There is nothing in the carvings that can we can tell him."

Molly shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry Greg, but I don't know anything about them. If I come across anything you will be the first to know."

"Sherlock, I'm back!" Molly called into the darkness of her flat after returning. Greg had let her go and she stopped at a café to pick up some food for their dinner. Placing the bags on the table, she turned on the light.

Sherlock was sitting at the desk, his head resting on keyboard and he was snoring. Shocked at the sight of the sleeping detective, Molly froze. His dark curls had fallen in front of his face and he resembled a young boy.

Smiling to herself, Molly put away her coat and placed the glasses on the desk beside Sherlock. Unsure what to do about him, she sat down at the table and ate her sandwich. Every so often, she would look over her shoulder to make sure he was still there.

She placed his dinner in the fridge and then turned to him. It was probably awfully uncomfortable sleeping on the keyboard, and he was so thin… surely it wouldn't be too much of a problem to carry- or rather drag- him back to his bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, Molly walked over to Sherlock. She turned him away from the key board and managed to rest his head against her shoulder. Taking his arms, she wrapped them around her neck and turned to his chest was pressed against her back. Taking one wrist in each hand, Molly began to walk toward Sherlock's bedroom.

Being at least a foot taller than her, his feet dragged along the floor, but he continued to sleep soundlessly. That was something she had learned about him. When he did finally sleep, it was nearly impossible to wake him up.

Molly shifted his body and gently placed him onto his bed, pulling the sheet up around him. Her hand reached out to stroke his face, but at the last moment, she pulled away. Sighing, she retreated out of his room and into hers. After getting ready for bed, Molly walked back up the hall to Sherlock's bedroom. He was curled up on his side, clutching one pillow to his chest. Smiling at the sight, Molly returned to her room and retired for the night.


End file.
